Waiting For Life
by PhoenixFire Lia
Summary: There is an island where rivers run deep...Where an orphan boy Trowa must prove that the power of love is stronger than the power of death. AU 3x4 parody of my school musical.
1. We Dance

Waiting for Life

What you are about to read is a blatant rip-off of the musical Once On This Island. Other than the general housekeeping of omniscient narration, and the contextual changes to fit this into a Gundam Wing setting, the entire fanfic is comprised of the musical's lyrics. So if the dialogue sounds hokey and rhymes too much, it's because I have literally lifted the lyrics…which I do not own. At all. Not a single scrap of them. Not even the Gundam Wing bits.  

**Yaoi Warning! **The story will ultimately be **3x4/4x3. **There are also smatterings of **2x1.**

**Hetero and Attempted Hetero Warning! **Hetero pairings include **Sx5, 6x9, 11x13, **attempted **Rx1 **and attempted **Dx4. **

This fanfic is dedicated to the almighty Sherman, for finding this amusing and because he's Tonton Julian and Tonton is a funny word. 

            It was a dark and stormy night. No, really, it was. It was a night black as pitch, the kind where one can hardly see the hand in front of their face. The wind howled its banshee shriek through the whipping palm trees as slashing rain fell in torrents, blown so much by the wind that it seemed to be falling sideways. In a communal hut in a village far from here, a fire flickered cheerily, casting wild shadows on the walls. A group of villagers in brightly colored clothing sat around the fire, comforting a small redheaded girl with brilliant blue, almost lavender eyes. She was sobbing, frightened by the growl of the thunder and the jagged tongues of lightning that pierced the dark night. 

            The villagers made room for several figures that approached the child, the storytellers. They were known for their fantastic fables and keepers of the village legends. Hilde slung an arm around the girl, chucking her under the chin. Sylvia dropped another handful of sticks onto the blaze.

            "Hush now, Mariemaia. You quit your blubbering, and we'll tell you a story," Hilde proposed. The weeping child nodded, her sobs quieting. 

            "There is an island, where rivers run deep. Where the sea, sparkling in the sun, earns it the name Jewel of the Colonies. An island where the poorest of Gundam pilots labor, and the wealthiest of Ozzies play. Two different worlds on one island. The Ozzies with their shiny mobile suits, owners of the land and masters of their own fates, and the Gundam pilots, young and inexperienced, eternally at the mercy of the wind and the sea, who pray constantly to the gods…"

Sally Po, grow me a garden

Please Wufei, don't flood my garden

Relena, who will my love be?

And Duo, don't come around me…

            The storyteller Sylvia laughed. "Ah, such powerful, such temperamental gods rule our island: Sally Po, mother of the earth; Wufei, god of water; Relena, beautiful goddess of love; and Duo, sly demon of death!"

The four gods looked down upon the island, ready to interfere with some poor peasant's life. 

Sally Po, grow me a garden

Please Wufei, don't flood my garden

Relena, who will my love be?

And Duo, don't come around me

Please Wufei, don't flood my garden

Sally Po grow me a garden…

The peasants moved about in their own world, following the rhythms laid out for them by the gods. "We dance, to the music of the gods, to the music of the breezes through the green plantain, the murmur of the rivers and the roll of rain, and if the gods decide to send a hurricane, we dance to their ever-changing moods. We know the gods are happy when the green things grow, they're angry when the river starts to overflow. And since we never know which way their winds will blow, we dance to the earth, we dance to the water, the gods awake and we take no chance. Our hearts feel the song, our feet move along, and to the music of the gods we dance." 

            Storyteller Noin stepped in now, brushing aside a lock of deep blue-black hair.

            "On the other side of the island, safe behind high walls and iron gates, the Ozzies danced to a different tune. They drink champagne, entertain tourists at their fine hotels, and tell the servants, 'Polish up the Mercedes!'"

Storyteller (and impartial third party) Heero shoved Noin aside. "Two different worlds, never meant to meet. The pilots labor, the Ozzies eat…"

The Ozzies, such fine and resplendent creatures, saunter about their clean streets, showing off their wealth and power. 

            "How fine our clothes are! How fast we drive! We dance at parties!"

The peasants raise their voices on their half of the island. "While we are dancing just to stay alive! We dance. What else is there to do? But plant the seed, and pull the weed, and chop the cane. And bear the child, and bear the load, and bear the pain. And as the rich go racing to their own refrain, we dance to the earth, we dance to the water, the gods awake and we take no chance! Our hearts feel the song, our feet move along, and to the music of the gods, we dance."

            "Two different worlds, never meant to meet, unless the gods move our feet," Heero pointed out, receiving dirty glares from Noin, who was still mad about being pushed. 

            Hilde elbowed Heero, asserting herself as head storyteller. She settled in with Mariemaia, offering her a box of overly buttered popcorn as she began narrating the story once again. 

            "Once on this island, there was a terrible storm. Many huts washed away, many peasants drowned by Wufei's angry waters. But one small boy caught his attention, and he was spared, an orphan, plucked from the flood by Wufei, sheltered in a tree by Sally Po, and sent on a journey by the gods, a journey that would test the strength of love against the power of death, on this island of two different worlds."

The other storytellers nodded in agreement. "The story of Ti Moune," they chanted. 

            "No, you dimwits! The story of Trowa!" Hilde squawked. 

Sylvia looked confused. "I don't think I've heard this one told before."

Hilde grinned. "Just you relax. I've got this one covered. How you doing, Mariemaia? Need more butter on that corn?"

The small girl shook her head, munching happily on her greasy snack as Hilde started to tell the tale once again, unaided by the others, since they were of no help. 

            "One small boy in a tree, torn from his mother, crying in fright. One small boy, tossed by seas, and left to face the stormy night. One small boy holding tight. And at last the storm subsided, and the morning sun glowed. And two old peasants came cautiously down the road…"

            The two peasants in question looked heavenward, frowning. They certainly did not consider themselves old in any way. And they were not just two old peasants, they were two old peasants and a small girl with curly auburn hair, their "daughter."

            "Lady Une," the man said, taking her elbow. 

            "Mister Treize," she replied, the girl, Catherine, clutching at her skirts. "Sally Po is smiling again, Treize."

Treize frowned, forked eyebrows narrowing over blue eyes. "This morning, she smiles. Last night, she tried to blow our heads off."

Lady Une chuckled behind her hand. She was the saintly sort, not the psychopathic gun-toting militant bitch everyone seemed to think of her as. "Oh Treize! Just listen to those birds!"

They paused and listened to the brightly colored, almost Muppet-like birds stationed in the palm trees overhead, until a different sound make itself present. It sounded suspiciously like a small child crying. 

            "What kind of bird is that?" Treize questioned, whipping out a pair of binoculars. 

            "Look, there!" young Catherine pointed. Her parents' attention was drawn to that particular tree. Lady Une squinted, just barely making something out. 

            "One small face…two small knees…"

            "Why are you up there?" Treize called. 

            "What is your name?" Une asked. 

There was silence. The young boy said nothing, only clutching tightly to the trunk of the tree and staring down at them with wide green eyes, peering out fearfully from under a wild shock of auburn hair. 

            "The boy can't speak," Une hypothesized. 

Treize snorted. "And they're to blame. Wufei probably meant to kill him."

            "Then he'd be dead," Une pointed out. 

            "It's possible he forgot."

Lady Une's eyebrow arched in incredulity. "The gods don't forget!"

            "Then they had some reason to spare his life, it's best that we don't know what. One small boy? Hmph, better not."

They started to walk away from the tree, but paused after walking not more than five feet. Catherine began to tug at their legs, pointing frantically at the tree and begging that they turn around and claim the boy still perched in the palm fronds. 

            "But we're too old for another child," Treize sighed. "We have no room and no food."

And not knowing quite why, they followed their hearts back to the tree, gently lifted the terrified child down, and discovered he could speak after all.

            "No!" the young boy cried, flailing hysterically, green eyes flashing.

One small boy, in the way

            "Constantly hungry," Une complained, trying to find something of their meager food ration to give the upset young boy. 

            "Learning too quick!" Treize added, stupefied that the very young boy had just thoroughly trounced him in a game of chess. 

One small boy hard at play

            "He makes me smile," Treize commented, watching the young child somersault in the backyard, landing ungracefully in an awkward position, slow to get up and tottering drunkenly about after the fall. 

            "He scares me sick!" Une cried, going for their first aid kit. 

And they scolded and teased and held him, and mended the clothes he tore. And the hut was crowded, and food was scarce, but somehow their lives held more, because they had the one small boy to live for. They named him Trowa Barton Khushrenada (which does not mean 'god-given desire' in any language), but in their affection, they called him simply Trowa. 

            "What does Trowa mean, Mama?" the precocious child asked. 

Lady Une glanced over at the boy from her cutting board. "Three. You're our sweet little orphan, we found you, and now your life is forever in our care."

            "Why?"

Lady Une sighed. "Because the gods willed it."

            "Why?" he repeated, running small, childish fingers through his unibang. 

The auburn-haired woman sighed more heavily. "Perhaps they saved you for something special."

            "What is it?"

She began to grow incredibly annoyed by the rapid-fire questions and wished she could have thrown the kid back up into the tree they found him in. "Oh Trowa, if we knew why the gods do the things they do, we'd be gods ourselves."

            "Someday I'm going to ask them, Mama," he said determinedly. 

The woman laughed, scooting the boy out the door. "Foolish boy. Run and play!"

He hurried out into the yard as Catherine tore through the kitchen, bent on finishing the game of hide-and-seek her brother had paused in the middle of to play 'Spanish Inquisition' with his mother. 

            Sweet as a eucalyptus and terrible as a tempest, banging a drum and humming a tune was the young Trowa, falling and running and calling and growing up too soon. In the blink of an eye, he'd become a young man, tall and lithe and handsome. 

            "One small boy," Treize mused one day, watching his son lazily sitting up in the high branches of a tree, sunning himself and dozing. 

            "Not so small," Une pointed out, holding up a pair of his trousers that she was taking the hem out of yet again. 

Catherine walked in, watching her brother as well. "Lost in those daydreams day after day."

Treize glanced over at his daughter. "Call his name."

            "No," Une advised, "don't call. His ears can't hear, he's far away."

The ginger-haired man sighed. "And I know that he's getting older."

            "I know that it's meant to be," his wife added. "And my arms can't hold him and keep him small, but all that my heart can see is one small boy in a tree.

///- (Trowa the emoticon page break!)

            Trowa, now sixteen, opened one ivy-green eye as he heard a low rumble in the distance, thinking it was thunder. Instead, he saw something flying down the road at a high rate of speed. He jolted upright, almost falling from his perch as he watched it dart by, a silver Mercedes being driven by an incredibly handsome boy dressed in white. A boy with pale blonde hair and brilliant aqua eyes. It was lust at first sight. 

            "A stranger in white in a car," the youth mused, "going somewhere, going far. How it must feel to go racing wherever you please, flying as free as a bird with his tail in the breeze. Even the fish in the sea must be longing to fly, catching a glimpse of a stranger in white racing by."

He slid down the trunk of the tree, racing down the road to the cliffs, watching the Mercedes jet around the curves towards the sparkling beaches below. Trowa clasped his hands reverently, biting his lip. 

            "O gods, o gods! Are you there? What can I do to get you to look down and give in? O gods, o gods! Hear my prayer! I'm here in the field with my feet on the ground and my fate in the air, waiting for life to begin!"

Seeing no immediate divine intervention, the lanky boy began trudging back towards his hovel, musing about his current position. 

            "Mama's contented, and Treize accepts what he gets, happy for tea in their cups and no holes in their nets. Happy to have what they have and to stay what they are, they never even look up at the sound of a car."

He leaned against the corner of the house, still enraptured by the mysterious boy, obviously an Ozzie by his fancy clothes. 

            "A stranger, racing down the beach, racing to places I was meant to reach. My stranger, one day you'll arrive. Your car will stop, and in I'll hop, and off we'll ride."

Trowa was quieter than usual at dinner, and retired early to bed. He sat up, trying to beseech the gods once again. 

            "O gods, o gods, don't you remember your little Trowa from the tree? Wake up, look down, hear my prayer! Don't single me out and then forget me! O gods, o gods, let me fly! Send me to places where no one before me has been. You spared my life, show me why! You got me to rise like a fish to the bait, then tell me to wait. Well, I'm waiting…waiting for life to begin."

            And the gods heard his prayers. They laughed, sitting on their lofty perches in the heavens, looking down upon the island and mocking the foolish boy who dared to ask for so much. 

            "That boy wants an Ozzie to carry him away," Sally Po mused. "I should find a tree all covered with mangos, juicy mangos fat and well fed. Pick a mango…"

            "A juicy mango," Wufei suggested, swiping at the blue glitter stuck resolutely to his brow. 

            "A lovely mango!" Relena cried, clasping her hands together in a shower of pink sparkles and little glittering hearts. 

Duo smirked. "A poison mango!" he added, twisting the handle of his scythe deftly. 

            "Drop the mango," Sally continued, "and knock some sense in his head!"

The other gods nodded. "Knock some sense in his head!"

            "Splash him with a wave!" Wufei offered, not without adding a quiet utterance of "weak onna."

            "Scare him half to death!" Duo shouted excitedly, jumping up and down, black shroud billowing about his pale and slender form. 

Relena waved a pink-swathed hand dismissively. "Give him what he wants."

            "Give him what he…?!" the others parroted. Relena nodded, conjuring up pink lemonade in a frosted margarita glass. 

            "Give him what he wants. Love has many powers, if the love is true. It can cross the earth and withstand the storm. It can conquer even you," she declared, casting a dour glance at Duo. 

            "Love? Conquer death? Why, I can stop his heart like that!" and he snapped his fingers to prove his point. 

            "Stop his heart from beating, yes, but not from loving. Not if love is what he chooses."

            "Ridiculous!" Duo shouted. 

Wufei raised a dark eyebrow. "Interesting."

Sally nodded, flicking one honey-colored pigtail. "More amusing than mangos."

The four deities glanced from one to the other and nodded. "A journey."

            "I will give him strength," Relena announced, "when the time is right."

            "I will guide his way!" Sally proclaimed, launching a hoard of butterflies from her sleeve as she made a grand gesture. Duo twirled his scythe again. 

            "I will make him choose."

Wufei sighed, looking defeated. It always came down to him. "And I'll provide the place for two different worlds to meet…tonight?"

Sally nodded, prodding the Chinese god in the back. "Tonight."

            Wufei rolled up his sleeves, picking up a gnarled staff with a gleaming aquamarine jewel, like a bubble, set into the top. "Damn onna, makes me do everything. Doesn't understand that good magic takes time, no, has to have everything done tonight. Fine. Let there be no moon, let the clouds race by, where the road meets the sea let the tide be high. Let there be a boy, walking by the sea, and let there be rain. Listen to his prayers, full of hope and pain, as he stares down the road in the pouring rain. Rain on the road, rain on his face, rain makes the road such a dangerous place. Let there be a car, racing through the night, where the road meets the sea let her wait, let him spin, let their fates begin in the rain."

///-

            Trowa found he couldn't sleep that night, woken by the crash of thunder and the roll of rain. He decided to get up and take a walk in the rain to clear his thoughts. Taking a quick glance to the side and noticing his sister was sound asleep, he quietly crept out of the house and wandered down the muddy roads towards the cliffs. From above, he could see the sputtering headlights of a car, but something seemed wrong. He peered out through the murk and the driving rain, unable to see a thing, until a jagged fork of lightning illuminated the land. It was the silver Mercedes, upturned, wheels still spinning. Trowa raced down the cliff roads, bare feet skidding on the mud. 

            He reached the car and wrenched the door open, using his fear to give him a boost of strength as he pulled the driver from the car. It was the same boy he'd seen earlier that day, the handsome blonde in white. 

            "Help! Someone come quickly, a car has crashed!" Trowa hollered. "A boy is hurt! Help me, someone! Where is everyone?"

He nudged the unconscious boy, his head lolling in Trowa's lap. "Hello, can you hear me?"

            "His skin is so pale," he thinks. 

            "Can you see me?" he asked, shaking the boy's thin shoulders. His eyes open for a moment, eyes from another world, blue as the sky. 

            "O gods, o gods," Trowa sighed. "You saved my life for a reason, and now I think I know why."

The villagers scrambled down the road, lights bobbing in the darkness as they circled about the injured Ozzie and his peasant caretaker. Water dripped into their eyes and through their thin, ragged clothing. 

            "He roared down the road like the devil himself!" one woman stated. 

Another shook her head. "Going too fast around the curves."

One of the village elders waggled a finger. "Sent us scrambling off the road like chickens."

            "He has what he deserves!" they all agreed. 

A black-haired man with a grating speaking voice joined the conversation. "Duo must want him."

Another, a blonde man with a blue headband, spat. "Then Duo can have him."

            "The boy's dying before our eyes," a dark-skinned young man observed as Trowa laid him down on the ground, head cushioned by his shirt. 

            "Help him!" Trowa begged.

            "Hide him!" Catherine cried.  

Several women stepped forward, but a tall, shifty-eyed man stopped them. "No! Don't touch him! Better leave him where he lies, even a wealthy man sometimes dies."

Treize and Une shoved their way through the crowd to where their son knelt with the ailing boy. 

            "Please! He needs help," Trowa said stubbornly. 

            "If this boy dies in our hands, the rich will send police," Treize replied, shaking his head. 

            "He needs care," Trowa pleaded, holding a limp wrist in his hand. 

Une bit her lip. "And if he lives, just think of how angry the gods will be!"

The village elders stepped forward. "The only thing that will save the boy's life is to send him back to his world."

Trowa shook his head resolutely. "The only thing that will save the boy's life is me.  The gods spared my life to save his. Please, Mama, Father Treize."

            Treize sighed, nodding. "I will find where he comes from."

Une looked stricken. "Treize, no!"

            "I will find who he is and soon. Until I return, take care of him, Trowa."

Without a moment's hesitation, Treize set out into the night to discover the wealthy boy's identity. The villagers carried the young Ozzie back up the road, laying him to rest on Trowa's meager pallet. And his long vigil began…

            One day went by, and two days went by. 

            "The boy has the will of the devil himself," one neighbor pointed out. 

            "Clinging to life by one small thread," another added as they discussed the tenacity of the ailing youth in the nearby hut. 

            "If it hadn't been for Treize's boy, he'd certainly be dead."

Several village girls peered into the hut, giggling and gossiping about Trowa, who remained steadfastly by his patient's side. 

            "Look at how he bathes him!"

            "And touches and protects him!"

            "He binds his wounds and he rubs his chest…it's as if the boy's possessed!"

Une walked in, wringing her hands and railing at her son. "You need food, you need sleep, you just can't go on without any sleep!"

Trowa shot her a dark look. "Mama, hush."

Catherine shadowed her mother, her face equally grim. "Have some tea."

            "His skin is hot."

            "Have a rest," his sister offered. 

            "He needs me here!" 

Both siblings glared at each other. "Can't you see how much this matters to me? I know what's best!"

Now the sky was growing dim, and the clouds were racing by, and the gods were looking down on the boy that meant to die and the boy who placed himself in their way. Pray! Three days went by, and four days went by. 

            "I fear for the girl and the mother as well," the neighbors said, watching Catherine and Une berating Trowa for still remaining by the tiny cot, wan and exhausted, eyes heavy and ringed. 

            "Nothing but trouble looms ahead," others agreed. 

One old woman clucked her tongue. "Mister Treize could be deep in danger, arrested, lost, or dead."

Out on the road, Treize was weary, footsore, and sick of walking, tired of searching for the boy's home. "O Sally Po, mother of the earth, guide the feet of this poor peasant man. Hear my prayer, which way there? And which way home?"

"I need herbs," Trowa demanded. 

"Your father gone!" Une wailed, wringing her hands and weeping. 

"Mama, herbs!" he repeated. 

The brunette woman glared at him. "And you don't care! Oh my god, what has this boy done to you?"

            "Mama, hush! He needs rest."

Catherine stomped her foot. "Our father's lost!"

            "He needs care!"

            "Because of you!" she shrieked.  

They exchanged heated glances again. "Can't you see that he's in terrible danger? What must I do?"

Now the sky was turning dark, and the wind was turning chill, and the gods were out for blood, they'd been cheated of their kill by the boy who lacked the sense to obey. Pray!

Lady Une was in a wild-eyed frenzy. "Treize! Where's my Treize? Bring my Treize home!"

            Far across the island, Treize was at the gate of a fancy hotel, trying to speak diplomatically to a tall guard in a vest and white pants who glared down at him. 

            "You want what?" he thundered. 

            "I've come so far and I need…" Treize began. 

The guard glowered. "Get back!"

            "I have some news for Mister…"

            "Get back!" the guard repeated. 

Treize gestured to the hotel. "Mr. Merquise has a…"

            "Peasant pig!" the guard cried, striking Treize. The dignified man wiped the blood from his mouth. 

            "Please, I beg!"

The guard raised an eyebrow. "You must be mad!"

            "I must see Mister…"

            "Mr. Merquise?" the guard asked. 

Treize nodded. "I have come so far!"

The guard (whom we all must know is Rashid) drew his scimitar. "So far to die!"

            "I have found his son!"

Now the sky has turned to black, and the wind is like a knife. And Duo is coming back for the boy who clings to life, and the boy who has the gods to repay. Pray!

Please Duo, don't come around me

Please Duo, don't come around me…

The storm had been one of the worst the island had ever seen, and the peasants all feared they would not live to see morning. Trowa was in terrible shape, having not eaten, not slept for days, suspended between dream and reality, unsure of what was true and what was the haze of a sleepless stupor. But he cared little for this; all that mattered was staying by the bedside of the ailing boy, listening to his feeble heartbeat. 

            "Sure as the wave needs to be near the shore," the weary peasant murmured, wringing another cold compress, "you are the one I was intended for. Deep in your eyes, I saw the gods' design. Now my life is forever yours, and you are mine."

He rose, shaking out weary limbs, oblivious of the death demon's shadowy presence, hanging over the bedroom like a shroud. 

            "I am the tree, holding away the storm. Here in my arms, I'll keep you safe and warm. Even the gods won't dare to cross this line where my life is forever yours, and you are mine."

He was unsure if he imagined it or not, but Trowa swore he heard a soft tenor voice echo, "And you are mine."

The pale, dying boy rose, shooting a longing glance at Trowa, who burned from within. 

            "We'll race away in a car, as silver as the moon. And the storm will turn to sun, on an island where the earth and sea are one."

Their hands met, clasping tightly together. "Sure as this night leads to a sky of blue, sure as my heart led me to be with you. Surely the gods meant this to be a sign, that my life is forever yours, and you are----"

            "Mine! Mine!" Duo crowed as the blonde Ozzie's heart finally failed him. "Arrogant fool, think you can hold back death?" 

            "Stay away!" Trowa commanded. 

Duo sneered at the mortal. "This boy is mine, I am his dying breath!" 

            "I won't let you have him!" 

            "Sure as the grave, you must accept what is! That his life is forever mine…"

Trowa stared down the god stubbornly. "Take mine for his."

The dark demon's violet eyes widened incredulously. "Wha-at?"

            "Take my life. My soul for his."

            "I am the road leading to no return," Duo reminded the young human.

Trowa nodded steadfastly. "I would die for him."

            "Secret of life nobody wants to learn. I am the car, racing towards distant shores."

Duo returned the young aristocrat's soul to him, taking Trowa's in exchange. 

            "Now his life is forever mine…" Trowa murmured. 

            "Your life is forever mine," Duo remarked, fading back into the shadows, his dark purpose fulfilled for the time being. Trowa stared down at the boy sadly, brushing a lock of blonde hair away from his pale face. 

            "And I am yours," he said hesitantly, speaking to both the god and the boy.

            Soon after that, Mister Treize returned to the village with the rich boy's family, who whisked him away to his own side of the island, to be with his own people again. Trowa had pledged his life to the boy, Quatre Winner Merquise, a boy from another world, another people. They were rich and aristocratic and beautiful, but at the same time sad. For they were cursed, cursed to forever remain on the island by their predecessors, the Romafellers, cursed for their kind hearts and their love of the peasants. And because of their sad lot, the Ozzies took their vengeance out on the peasants, despising them for their equally kind hearts and the pain that had been inflicted upon them. 

(To Sherman et al.: I really don't think we need Armand and his whores mucking up my musical.)

            Trowa became despondent, longing to go to the other side of the island to be with Quatre. But Treize and Une were dead-set against their son going out into the wide world all by himself, to a place where his kind was unwelcome. 

            "Father Treize, he needs me!" he pleaded. "Without me, he'll die."

            "Let the gods decide his fate. What can a peasant do for an Ozzie but shine his boots?" Une chastised. 

Trowa bit his lip. "Mama, his ancestor once loved a Gundam pilot. This time, he'll marry one, I know of it. I am in his blood, and he is in mine."

Catherine's eyebrows arched nearly to her hairline. "Marry you? You are mad! He will not marry you, Trowa!"

            "I must go to him. His heart beats for me like a drum. The gods are dancing for me, Mama. Please Mama, please Father Treize, give me your blessing and let me go. I will go."

Une threw her hands in dismay. "What can I say to stop you now? Now that you've heard your drums and seen your dancers? Now that you think your heart has all the answers? Who knows how high those mountains climb? Who knows how deep those rivers flow? Who knows how far those dreams can go, Trowa?"

            "I won't be there to guide your way, to comb your hair or dry your tears, as we have done these many years, Trowa. What you are, we made you. What we gave you, too. Now you run without one backwards look," Treize added. 

Catherine patted her brother's shoulder. "You'll find some other boy to save. You'll find some other love that you can share. Your heart is young, your dreams are everywhere. Choose your dreams with care, Trowa." 

            "But I have chosen, and my dreams are there down that road!" Trowa protested. 

Treize shook his head. "You are a child, Trowa. That road is hard and dangerous. The city is miles away and even if you get there, even if you get to the hotel Merquise, you will never get through the gate!"

            "I will get there, Father Treize. I will get through the gate. I'm not a child any longer. What I am, you made me. What you gave, I owe. But if I look back, I'll never go. Who knows how high those mountains climb? Who knows how deep those rivers flow? I know he's there, that's all I need to know."

            "Go and find your love."

            "Go and swim your seas."

            "You know where we'll be."

Trowa nodded. "Always there with me."

He gathered up what little he needed for the journey, what little he had, and left. His family watched his retreating form sorrowfully. 

            "Trowa."

///-

            Trowa had never been away from home before, and as he set out into the wide world on his own, he began to grow apprehensive. But on this island, the earth sings as soon as the storm ends. And as Trowa set out on his journey, he realized he was walking with old friends. The birds, the trees, the frogs, and the breezes. Trowa lost all his fear, for he knew Sally Po was near. The motherly blonde goddess appeared beside him, swathed in earthy greens and browns. 

            "You never been away from the sea, child?"

He shook his head. Sally frowned. 

            "You're going to need a helping hand. A fish has got to learn to swim on land."

She slung her arm around his shoulder, sending out another strain of butterflies from her sleeve as they started walking down the road together. 

            "Walk with me, little boy, don't you be afraid. Follow me, little boy, let me be your guide. A handsome thing like you will need a thing or two, and whatever you need, Sally will provide! Down the road little boy you may lose your way, all alone in a world that may seem too wide. But sit on Sally's lap…hm…on second thought, don't…and I will draw a map. And whatever you need, Sally will provide! I'll provide you…"

            "Artillery?" Trowa suggested. 

            "Huh?"

            "A safehouse?"

            "Unlikely."

            "A plan?"

            "Talk to the professors about that one."

            "A gun?"

            "Definitely no."

            "A shuttle?"

            "Try again."

            "Some grenades?"

            "Who do I look like?"

            "A Gundam?"

            "Ha! Bugs will bite, little boy, and the night will fall. All alone in the dark you'll be terrified. But you will make it through, 'cause I am liking you. And whatever you need, Sally will provide!"

Trowa seriously considered running back home at this point, but he'd already angered the gods once in his lifetime. Best not to repeat that. 

            "Walk with me, little Tro, and I'll take you far! Around each bend, little friend, I'll be by your side. That's why it's Sally's worth to give her pal the Earth! And whatever you need, Sally will provide!"

            Hilde paused at this point, frowning. Little Mariemaia looked up at her expectantly, waiting for the next part of the story. The redheaded girl pouted. 

            "What happened next?"

Hilde shrugged. "This is where the story gets confusing. Some say…how Trowa began the long journey towards the city…"

            "Some say his feet were bare and the road was long and cruel," Heero remarked. 

            "Some say he got a ride from a vendor and his mule," Noin added.

            "Some say the gods pulled up in a car and drove him all the way," Sylvia put in. 

Hilde nodded. "Well, no one knows how the real truth goes, but that's what some say."

            "And how far did he travel?" Mariemaia asked. 

            "As far as you suppose," the storytellers answered. 

The girl's eyes widened. "And how long did it take him?"

            "Much longer than your nose."

The child was amazed now, continuing her query. "And was he ever frightened? Or was his love too strong? And did he know he'd end up in a story and a song?"

            "Some say what happened when Trowa finally reached the city," Hilde continued. 

Heero tossed another stick at the fire. "Some say they laughed at him 'cause his peasant feet were bare."

            "Some say the vendor man gave him shoes too small to wear," Noin proposed. 

            "Some say the gods said 'Put on the shoes, it's the price you have to pay,'" Sylvia stated. 

            "The shoes were tight, but he said 'All right,' or that's what some say," Hilde narrated. "At last, still wearing his painful new city shoes, Trowa arrived at the gates of the hotel Merquise. But the fierce guard at the gate realized that Trowa had nothing to sell to the tourists."

            "Stop!" Rashid cried. Trowa nearly panicked, glancing around quickly for divine intervention. 

            "But Trowa must have smiled his most handsome smile, and Relena must have touched the fierce guard on the shoulder…on second thought, Trowa just cold-cocked him and ran…either way, he got through the gates and he went off in search of his Quatre."

            "Some say he scrubbed the floors 'til he learned where he was kept," Heero muttered, getting annoyed with having no actual story. 

            "Some say he climbed a vine to the window where he slept," Noin sighed, equally annoyed with the lack of proper story. 

            "Some say the gods just lifted him up and placed him where he lay," Sylvia said wistfully, thinking the whole thing to be so romantic. 

            "Well, no one knows how the real truth goes, it all depends what you hear from friends, it's no surprise if it's all just lies, but that's what some say," Hilde concluded. 

///-

This concludes part one of our story. Time for a short intermission! In the actual play, there is no intermission, but this is getting on the long side, and I don't even have the full score with the proper dialogue, just the CD and having listened to play rehearsals for many a night. Remember, this has been edited to be applicable to Gundam Wing and my own brand of humor. And to Tonton Sherman and Nicki the Whoreyteller, break a leg! 


	2. Why We Tell the Story

Welcome back from intermission! Congratulations to the cast of the school production on a great opening night, you were awesome. So now, please have your tickets ready and your programs handy, make sure to turn off all cell phones and pagers, and please, no flash photography. Enjoy the rest of the show!

            Quatre woke with a start, cadaverous and gasping for breath. He was sprawled out on a huge mattress, surrounded by enough pillows and silk throw blankets to sink an ocean liner. And there, sitting at the foot of the bed, toying with a crucifix about his neck was Trowa, watching the Ozzie intently. 

            "Who are you? How did you get in here?" Quatre gasped, wincing as pain shot through his body.

            "I'm Trowa…don't you remember me? I saved your life."

            "You better get out of here before I call the guards," he threatened, trying valiantly to prop himself up to a more commanding position. 

Trowa shook his head. "You're still very ill. And you don't remember all I've done for you, either. How I pulled you from your crushed car, how I took care of you, bathed your wounds. You're still burning with fever, aren't you?"

            "You…you're crazy. Just some crazy peasant that I'm making up. This is a dream."

            "No, it's not. I've seen the scar on your chest, there. The gods have sent me to make you well, please let me stay, Quatre."

The boy's pale lips pursed. "So…it _was_ you then. You're very young…"

            "Not really. I'm the same age as you, actually. Maybe a little older."

            "…And very handsome."

Trowa blushed. "Thanks. I've traveled a very long way to be here, so I could heal you."

Quatre sighed, shifting slightly. "Good, because my leg won't heal right. If you and your peasant superstitions think that you can do better than modern medicines, then by all means, stay the night, and we can see what powers you may possess."

            Trowa fell asleep at the foot of the bed, guarding the young aristocrat from any evils that could befall him. Quatre smiled, dragging himself across the mattress and laying down beside Trowa, falling asleep spooned beside him. 

            "My, isn't that a pretty picture?" Relena mused, hovering over the bed, wand in hand. "The courage of the dreamer, the innocence of youth, the failures and the foolishness that lead us to the truth. The hopes that make us happy, the hopes that don't come true, and all the love there ever was, I see this all in you. You are part…"

Wufei materialized beside her, hands clasped firmly over his ears. "Onna! I don't think there is such a key in music! You sound like you're strangling a cat!"

            "Shut up, Wufei! Nobody commented on your singing!"

            "My singing was perfectly fine. Maxwell! Get over here!"

Duo slipped into the room from the shadows, a menacing grin on his face. "You rang?"

            "Take the onna's costume. You can at least sing in a key that someone other than dogs can hear," the god of water commanded. Relena tried to run off, but Wufei grabbed her collar and the two gods temporarily switched costumes, Duo now sporting the flowing pink garb of the love goddess, his wild chestnut locks turned loose from their elastic. 

            "Where was she? Oh, okay. You are part, part of the human heart. Of all who took the journey and managed to endure, the ones who knew such tenderness, the ones who felt so sure. The ones that came before you, and others yet to come, and those who you will teach it to, and those you learned it from. You are part, part of the human heart. This is the gift I give, through your love you'll live forever. Part of the human heart…wait, should I really be singing this if I want Trowa to die? I mean, it's kind of hypocritical of me to be saying that he'll live forever if I want him to lose and take the big dirt nap, ya know?"

            "Kisama, Maxwell, just go. The song's over anyways."

            And the night became a day, and still Quatre kept the gentle Trowa beside him. And the day became a week, and still he slept in his room. And after two weeks, a buzzing began spreading through the halls of the hotel Merquise, even into the city, until everybody had heard the news, that the ailing Quatre Winner Merquise had taken a peasant for a lover and that, little by little, he was "healing" him. 

            "Now what can he want with a peasant like him? Handsome yes, but low as dirt," a merchant scoffed. 

            "He can have the world and takes a peasant? Perhaps his brain was hurt," another mocked, twirling her index finger in the universal 'crazy' gesture. 

            "Look how he holds him, and touches and attends him," a maid gasped to her companions. 

            "The boy believes he can make him well, and he has him in a spell," another maid said disapprovingly, folding a towel. 

Trowa and Quatre walked past the cluster of gossipers, the latter supported by the taller man as he hobbled along. 

            "I have a gift for you," Trowa murmured. Quatre smiled. 

            "What is it?"

Trowa unclasped his crucifix, fastening around the blonde's slender neck. "A charm. If you wear it close to your heart, it can make you whole again."

            "But you're my charm, Trowa. Without you I could never be whole."

            "I'll never leave you, Quatre."

The eavesdropping servants all cackled cruelly as soon as the two lovers were out of earshot. 

            "Now what do you make of a peasant like him?" a fishmonger said, nodding at Trowa as he and Quatre walked by. 

            "Putting on airs without a doubt," the cooper in the next stall over replied. 

            "When the boy is well and does not need him, how soon he'll throw him out," the jeweler added, arms folded across her ample chest.

            "Soon, I'll be dancing!" Quatre said excitedly, testing his bad leg. 

Trowa chuckled. "Right, but for now, walk slowly."

Quatre pouted, staring up at him through long lashes. "Then you'll have to walk even more slowly, Trowa."

            "Why is that?"

            "So I can catch you!" 

            "Quatre!" Zechs Merquise hollered, stomping down the street in his shiny black boots, pulling his wayward son aside. "How long do you think you can play this game?"

            "This is no game, Father," Quatre replied sternly. 

            "Surely you can't believe it's real," Zechs reproached scornfully. 

Quatre clenched his fists. "I'm in love with Trowa!"

            "You are not the first to want a peasant, I too know their appeal," he glanced at Trowa, whipped out a picture of Noin, glanced at that, and stuck it back in his pocket. "But you are my son, you'll do what must be done…no matter what you feel!"

He stormed off, Quatre glaring thunderously at his retreating form before shaking it off and returning to Trowa's side. 

            "I know what he sees in a peasant like him, probably makes him rise like yeast," Abdul said to Auda, nudging him with his elbow, eyebrows hitching suggestively over his glasses. 

            "The kid may think he's very clever, Master Quatre can keep him here forever, but I can tell you this, they'll never stand before a priest."

///-

            Trowa sat on the edge of Quatre's bed, watching him dress. Quatre was standing in front of his closet, shirtless, contemplating his attire for the evening's grand ball. 

            "The powder blue one that brings out your eyes," Trowa suggested. "What do you think? A small house, a pretty one, not pink and blue like my sister Catherine wants, and a tree in the garden like the one that sheltered me as a child. We'll lie in the shade of the tree while our children play in the yard."

            "Sounds lovely," Quatre agreed, shrugging on the cumbrous shirt with its thirty pounds of lace. "Trowa, you're wonderful, did you know that? Some loves take hours to paint every perfect nail, fragrant as flowers or powdered, prim and pale. But you are as wild as the wind-blown tree, as dark and as deep as the midnight sea. While they're busy dressing, you lie here warm and bold. Some loves you picture…some you hold."

            In the room next door, a wealthy blonde Ozzie with steely blue eyes and oddly forked eyebrows flirted with her reflection, pouting and kissing as she dressed. 

            "Some loves take courses at all the best schools in France, riding their horses and learning their modern dance. They're clever and cultured and worldly wise, but you see the world through a child's wide eyes. While their dreams are grand ones, you want what's just in reach. Some loves you learn from, some you teach."

From their lofty perch, Sally and Relena nodded approvingly, holding out upturned palms to their fellow deities. Wufei and Duo cursed, reluctantly fishing their wallets from their robes. The girls had bet that Quatre, already a skilled pianist and violinist, could sing as well. The two pilots had negated that thought, replying that Quatre would be too shy to actually sing. 

            "You are not small talk or shiny cars, or mirrors or French cologne. You are the river, the moon, the stars…you're no one else I've known. Some loves take pleasure in buying a fine trousseau, counting each treasure and tying each tiny bow. They fold up their futures with perfumed hands, while you face the future with no demands. Some loves expect things others think nothing of. Some loves you marry, some you love." 

Sally Po sighed. "That song really doesn't work in a shounen-ai connotation."

            "It was the best I could do, shut up," Relena answered, pouting. 

///-

            Some time later, down in the ballroom, the Ozzies at the hotel Merquise were dancing to their own little tune, waiting to see Trowa. Quatre stood around idly, hovering about the punchbowl and nodding respectfully to his guests. Zechs paraded about in full Milliardo Peacecraft regalia, looking about as wealthy as he actually was. The wealthy girl with the eyebrows ran over to Quatre, gracefully, taking him by the hands and forcing him to waltz with her. 

            "Some girls are saying he's simple as any child," she remarked. 

            "Please, Dorothy," Quatre replied, trying to loosen her grip on his wrists. 

The blonde woman spun about. "Barefoot and praying and running the halls quite wild."

            "Dorothy…" Quatre repeated, wondering if there was a way he could dance her into the punchbowl. 

            "And is he as handsome as we've all heard? You've already…well, what's the word?" 

A hush fell over the ballroom as Trowa descended the staircase, looking about self-consciously. He was wearing formals stolen from one of the taller Maguanac personnel about the building, form-fitting black that made his green eyes sparkle in the chandelier light. 

            "Quatre!" he sighed in relief, catching sight of him from across the floor and cautiously moving to meet him. The guests buzzed, pointing and staring at the boy, the peasant Gundam pilot from across the island. 

            "So this is your Trowa, how handsome he is," Dorothy stated, extending her hand. 

Quatre stepped back slightly. "Trowa, may I present Dorothy Catalonia."

Trowa kissed the back of her hand gently. "Hello."

            "I'm so happy to meet you, my dear, I hear you're a healer and a dancer as well."

Trowa raised an eyebrow, mouthing "dancer?" to Quatre, who shrugged. 

            "Won't you dance for us now? Won't you give us a show? Please, Master Trowa, don't say no."

The brunette glanced helplessly at Quatre. "But I'm afraid I don't…"

            "You'll be fine, Trowa. Don't worry about it," Quatre said gently. 

Trowa muttered a curse to the gods under his breath, glancing about the dance floor at all of the guests, who glared at him expectantly. He had no real idea how to dance; it wasn't something one had to worry about when trying to survive. Dorothy found a box of cutlery, and, grinning wickedly, started winging the knives at the peasant in the center of the ballroom floor. Trowa jumped, narrowly dodging a knife, leaping and spinning to avoid the projectiles. The audience had no idea that the genteel Dorothy was chucking flatware, watching the lithe peasant flip and whirl as silver flew about his body. Presently, the aristocratic woman ran out of knives, and Trowa realized he could stop. The applause was thunderous, the ball continuing without incident, although some complained about missing knives. 

///-

            "Well, it's very clear," Dorothy said to Quatre, the two standing alone in the ballroom that evening, long after the guests had retired for the evening. "He's in love with you. Quatre, if you care, if you care at all, you will tell him…"

            "Quatre!" Trowa called, running into the room, face flushed. "What did you think? The ambassador said I was incredible, and everyone else is so happy that…I'm…here…Quatre, is something wrong? What is it?"

The blonde looked pained, shoulders hitching with dry sobs. Dorothy stepped forward. 

            "My dear, I believe I have something to say, something I fear was left unsaid…"

She shot a dark look at the cringing Quatre. "Many thanks for all you've given Quatre, but do not be mislead."

Trowa looked at Quatre quizzically, but his lover would not meet his gaze. 

            "My dear, I can tell, you dance so very well. I pray you'll dance for Quatre and for me, when we are wed. Trowa, Quatre and I…"

Quatre gripped Dorothy's shoulder, shaking his head slightly. The woman pouted, walking off in a huff. 

            "Trowa, Dorothy and I have been promised to each other since we were children. Our fathers really can't stand each other, and I don't like Dorothy that much either, especially considering I'm gay…but that's beside the point."

            "But Quatre…"

He looked away. "This is how things are done, Trowa. This is what is expected."

            "Quatre, please."

            "We'll race away in a car…"

            "I can't change who I am or where I'm from, as much as I want to."

Trowa felt his eyes burning with tears, but continued valiantly. "…As silver as the moon…"

            "I wish we could, Trowa, I really do."

            "We will live beside the sea…we'll have children, a garden, and a tree…" 

 Quatre started to cry, quietly. "I'm sorry, Trowa, I thought you understood. You and I could never marry."

He walked off, hand on his cheek, shoulders shaking terribly as he did. Trowa stood there in shock, eyes wide, mouth dry, knees weak. 

            "Oh gods…oh gods…" he said in disbelief, tears stuck in his throat. "Are you there? Are you there?"

He fell to his knees, the voices of all who had scorned him echoing in his ears. 

            _"There could never be anything between a peasant and an Ozzie!"_

            "Marry you? You are mad!"

            "You're not supposed to be in here!"

            "Now what would he want with a peasant like him?

            "Handsome, yes, but low as dirt."

            "The boy has the will of the devil himself!"

            "He'll soon throw him out!"

            "What could a peasant do for an Ozzie but shine his shoes?"

            "He will not want you, Trowa!"

            "Just think how angry the gods will be!"

            "Some you marry, some you love."

            "Oh Trowa, what has this boy done to you?"

            "The boy will have the gods to repay…the gods to repay…the gods to repay…"

Duo's hollow, evil cackle rang loudest above all, Trowa pressing his hands to his ears and hoping beyond hope that the awful sound would just go away. But it didn't. Duo stepped down from the thunderclouds looming outside, scythe in hand. 

            "There were promises made in the darkness, promises made in your sleep. Promises the gods demand you keep!"

He wheeled menacingly, long sleeves fluttering like black wings as he swept down towards Trowa. 

            "You gave him love, love that he'd soon betray. You gave him life; I am the price you pay. Sure as the grave, you must accept what is. Now your life is forever mine!"

He lifted the scythe and Trowa cried out. "Please don't!"

            "Trade yours for his," Duo said simply, lowering the weapon. 

Trowa glanced up at the dark demon. "What?"

            "You saved him, you loved him, and he betrayed you. Why should you die for him now? Kill him, Trowa! Kill the love you have for him, prove that death is stronger than love and you can have your own life again, just as if you never loved at all."

He handed Trowa a knife, and the distraught young man walked, trancelike, towards Quatre's room. Duo followed in the shadows, and Relena as well. 

            "I am the road, leading to no return..."

            "The courage of the dreamer…"

Trowa slid the door open, walking soundlessly to the bedside. Quatre was sprawled across the mattress, asleep, vulnerable.

            "Secret of life finally his to learn…"

            "You are part…"

He raised the knife, withdrew his hand, trembling, and raised it again. 

            "I am the car racing towards distant shores…"

            "Part of the human heart…"

His hand went down one more time, heart torn between losing his own life and taking that of the man he loved. The knife went up into the air again, Trowa's grip on the handle white-knuckle. 

            "Now his life is forever mine…"

            "Forever!" Relena pleaded. 

Trowa dropped the knife with a sob. "I can't!"

Quatre woke, staring at Trowa wide eyed as the green-eyed peasant sobbed, the knife glinting coldly on the floor. The young Ozzie shook his head sadly, quickly exiting. Trowa held out a hand. 

            "Wait, Quatre! I…I love you!"

And Trowa was cast out of the hotel Merquise, and the gates slammed shut behind him. 

Rashid, Abdul, and Auda glared at him coldly, guarding the entrance. Trowa stood, hands gripping the bars, looking them pleadingly. 

            "I…I am Trowa Barton Khushrenada. I am the lover of Quatre Winner Merquise. I was the one who danced at the ball. The people applauded. All eyes were on me. The gods sent me; they want me to be with him. Quatre loves me, he needs me. Without me, he'll die, surely you can see that. There's been a terrible mistake, he must be wondering where I am. Tell him, tell him I'm here, tell him Trowa is waiting for him at the gate. Trowa is waiting for him…"

            "And for two weeks, Trowa did wait at the gate, not eating, not sleeping, only waiting and watching as the grounds of the hotel Merquise were made even more lovely in preparation for the wedding. And at last, Quatre and Dorothy were married, and as superstition dictated, they came to the gates to throw coins to the peasants so that their own fortune would multiply. But Quatre did not even recognize Trowa," Hilde said to Mariemaia, pulling out a box of tissues. "And Trowa wasted away, pining for his love, and there, outside the gate of the hotel, he died."

            "HOLD IT!"

Everyone stopped as Relena stormed into view, fuchsia robes fluttering about her, a wild, desperate look in her eyes. "This story is all wrong!"

Duo slinked out of the shadows, hands on his hips, braid swinging. "What are you talking about? No it's not! Trowa dies, that's how the story ends. He dies and the gods bless him and turn him into a tree."

Relena stamped her foot. "But it's wrong! Trowa won, I won! Love is stronger than death, we proved that, so since love is the most powerful thing there is, Trowa should end up with Quatre!"

            "But that's not how it goes, Relena. It's a nice sentiment, but that's not the message the story is sending to the kids. There is no happy Disney fairytale ending here, Trowa dies."

            "But he can't! It just isn't right!"

Duo sighed, knowing that there would be no chance of dissuading the vehement Relena.

            "Okay, how about we do this? How about we get an impartial third party to decide for us, and whatever that person says goes? Does that sound okay to you, o high and mighty Vice Foreign Minister Darlian?"

Relena nodded. "As long as they're completely impartial."

            "Right. HEERO!" Duo hollered. The Japanese pilot sauntered over, tugging at the garishly colored and flowing outfit he was wearing, the bright garb of the storyteller (or whoreyteller, as some of us like to thing of them). 

            "That's so not fair, Duo! He's your boyfriend, he's going to agree with you!" 

Heero shrugged. "Not necessarily. Duo has a tendency to be wrong about things."

            "That was mean, Hee-koi. So here's the deal: Relena's holding up the story because she thinks that the ending, that we're pulling straight from the musical, is wrong."

            "What's the ending?" Heero asked nonchalantly. 

Relena frowned. "Quatre marries that slut Dorothy, Trowa dies, and then he turns into a tree that watches over the progeny of Quatre and Dorothy."

Heero shrugged. "Don't know what the problem is with that."

            "It's wrong!" Relena wailed. "I proved him wrong, that love was stronger than death. So, I'd get my way, and my way is that Quatre and Trowa break down the racial barriers and marry each other anyway."

Heero frowned, starting to pace a little. "Hn. Duo is right, the story has to be the same…"

            "Ha! In your face, Darlian!"

            "…However, I'm going with Relena on this one."

Duo's face fell. "What?!"

            "Quatre would kill us all if we let anything happen to Trowa. You didn't have to put up with him after the Wing Zero incident. Right?"

Relena and Noin nodded, shuddering. "That was scary beyond reason."

Hilde sighed. "All right, I'll back it up. Hey, Mariemaia, forget what I just said, kay?"

            "What?" the girl asked. "Forget what?"

            "Exactly. And for two weeks, Trowa did wait at the gate, not eating, not sleeping, only waiting and watching as the grounds of the hotel Merquise became even more lovely in preparation for the wedding…"

            The morning of the wedding came, but Quatre's heart felt heavy. He stood in front of the mirror, repulsed by his own reflection, the face of someone who'd rejected the only true love he'd ever known. He unbuttoned the top of his silk pajamas and let it fall, the gold crucifix glinting in the hollow of his throat. 

            "Oh Trowa…you will always be a part of me…" he sighed, putting on his wedding clothes. He tried to think of being with Dorothy, pleasing his father and her family, but all he could see was the charming peasant who'd won his heart. 

            "Gods of this island, whoever it is that Trowa prays to, please help me."

Relena touched him on the shoulder and led him to the gate, where Sally Po, Wufei, and Duo all stood around Trowa. He was leaning against the iron gateposts, an inch from death and still waiting. 

            "You will always be a part of me, Quatre…"

And the gods began to cry, tears of compassion for the orphaned Trowa, who proved that love could withstand the storm, and cross the earth, and survive even in the face of death. 

            "Trowa! Trowa, you can't die!" Quatre shouted, ordering Rashid to unlock the gates. He fell to his knees, tears rolling down his pale cheeks. Trowa glanced up at him weakly. 

            "Go marry Dorothy, it's what you want, isn't it?" 

            "Of course it isn't! I see that now. You are in my blood, and I am in yours. There is no difference between Gundam pilot and Ozzie, rich or poor, black or white. We are all the same. And it's you I want, Trowa. Please, please don't die. Take my life if you must, I would gladly give it for you."

The four gods looked at each other and nodded solemnly, Sally sniffling a little. 

            "Trowa has already given his soul, his time has come," Duo stated. "What will you do, Quatre?"

The cerulean-eyed boy held Trowa in his arms as his life petered out of him. "Take mine as well. I don't want to live if Trowa isn't going to either."

            "Very well."

  Quatre began to sob, clinging tighter to his love as his body went cold. "I love you."

Relena took them by the hand, and led them to the sea, where Wufei wrapped them in a wave and laid them to their rest. And Duo was gentle as he carried them to shore, where Sally Po accepted them and held them to her breast. 

            And the gods blessed them, and transformed the two lovers into a tree! A tree that sprang up and cracked the walls of the hotel Merquise, so that its gates could never be closed again. A tree that lived forever, sheltering peasants and Ozzies alike, a tree that watched over the people throughout their lives, a tree in which children played. And one day, as Catherine's young son sat in the shade of the tree, he noticed the two handsome lovers high in the branches, looking out at the world, and the spirits of Trowa and Quatre touched their hearts and set them free to love. 

            "And they stand against the lightning and the thunder, and they shelter and protect us from above, and they fill us with the power and the wonder of their love. And this is why we tell the story," Hilde explained. 

            "If you listen very hard you'll hear them call us, to come share with them our laughter and our tears, and as mysteries and miracles befall us through the years, we tell the story!" Sylvia exclaimed. 

            "Life is why we tell the story, pain is why we tell the story, love is why we tell the story, grief is why we tell the story," Noin added. 

            "Hope is why we tell the story, faith is why we tell the story," Heero continued. 

            "You are why," they said. "Why we tell the story. So I hope that you will tell this tale tomorrow, it will help your heart remember and relive. It will help you feel the anger and the sorrow, and forgive. For out of what we live, and we believe, our lives become the stories that we weave."

            "There is an island where rivers run deep, where the sea sparkling in the sun earns it the name Jewel of the Colonies. An island where the poorest of Gundam pilots labor, and the wealthiest of Ozzies play. And on this island, we tell the story," Mariemaia narrated. 

            Outside, the storm had cleared, and the villagers all made their way home, elders and storytellers, mothers and children. Hilde blew out the fire and stepped out of the hut into the cool night air. Two forms, one very tall and lithe, the other smaller but slender, stood leaning against the doorframe. 

            "Nice story, Hilde. You had us going for a little while," the taller one said, stepping out of the shadows. 

            "Hmph, turned into a tree. You were better off just telling the poor girl we ran off together, booked the first flight off of the island and got married by an Amish man in the middle of Vermont," the second one said. 

Hilde grinned mischievously. "But where would the fun be in that? I thought the ending was rather nice, the poor pilot and the wealthy Ozzie forever joined as one. You two just have no imagination."

Trowa shrugged. "Sure we do. We could've gone to Vegas."

            "At least Dorothy never found out. She still thinks the tree in the yard is the two of us, still locked in our final embrace," Quatre remarked casually. 

Hilde snickered. "Some say she sits out there and yells at the poor plant because you jilted her. And some say she became a dendrophiliac afterwards."

Trowa slung an arm around his partner's waist. "Come on, I think we've had enough stories for one night, you."

///-

"For out of what we live, and what we believe, our lives become the stories that we weave."

Thus ends my little version of Once On This Island. I apologize for putting Trowa so out of character, but I didn't want to go messing with Ti Moune anymore than I already had. In the real version, Ti Moune (or Trowa) really does die and turn into a tree, while Daniel and Andrea (Quatre and Dorothy) marry. I thought it would be more touching to let Trowa get what he wants, besides, I didn't want the 3x4 advocates throwing mangos at my head. Once again, great job to the real-life cast, Matt, Nicki, you guys were awesome. 


End file.
